Behind Blue Eyes
by TheOppositeOfSinister
Summary: Hostile. Alone. An animal. Those were the first things associated in the mind of Paul "Jesus" Rovia when he thought of Daryl Dixon. But after helping him escape from the Sanctuary, Jesus sees another side to him. A man. A good man. A sad man. Trigger Warning: Mentions of self harm, suicide, torture and child abuse. One sided Jesus/Daryl.


**"No one knows what it's like  
to be mistreated  
to be defeated  
behind blue eyes"  
-Behind Blue Eyes, The Who**

* * *

Jesus had only encountered Daryl a few times- most of which they'd been anything but friendly to each other. Sure, he gave peace a go. He liked peace. It solved as many problems as it caused. So when he met Rick's right hand man- he wanted peace. Rick wanted peace. Rick extended a hand, and gave him peace.  
But Daryl wouldn't have it.  
It seemed to him that no matter how many times they would meet- Daryl would do nothing but snarl at him. He had thought it was a gesture of hostility. But during Maggie's time at the Hilltop they'd had many long conversations about her group- and apparently the snarling was just... Daryl.

"If he really hated you, you'd have been dead a long time ago." She said, sad reminiscence in her eyes. "He's hard. He's a hard man with a hard life. It's hard to love him. But you can't hate Daryl. Not if you know him."

Days and days of hearing the merit of Daryl Dixon, had made the shock he felt even greater- when he found the man within the Sanctuary- beating a man to death with a metal pipe. Violence was not his favorite thing. Not by a long shot. But somehow Jesus could not tear his eyes away as the hostage beat the man over and over and over again; even after he was dead. The man's blood spattered across Daryl's face, and Jesus felt like the mania in his eyes could only compare to the horror of Negan himself.

"Daryl." He called, but the man before him could not seem to hear. Maybe he was just ignoring him. "Daryl!"

Daryl looked up at him, as if only registering that he had an audience, before looking back at the man he'd just killed. Panting, Daryl leaned forward, the pipe dropping from his hand. When he straightened up Jesus saw the gun he'd taken off the dead man, tucked safely into his pants.  
"It ain't 'bout just gettin' by here." He said to the dead man before him, and only when he took his eyes of the body did Jesus hear the explanation in his voice. "It's 'bout gettin' it all."

* * *

The return to the Hilltop had been a silent one. Neither Daryl nor Jesus dared say a word as the latter clung to the former on the back of the stolen bike.  
Daryl was a silent one. A loner. That's how Sasha had described him.

"Never trusted him, at first." She said as they stood watch together. "He was this crazy ass animal with a crossbow. Like some kinda guard dog for Rick. Kinda funny seeing as someone told me they spent months pointing guns in each others faces. But my... someone I trusted... he told me Daryl was one of the good ones. And he was right. He is. If you've gotta trust someone with your life, it should be a guy like him. He never talks, sure. He's always alone. Doesn't let anyone 'cept Rick, and Carol and maybe Michonne near him. But he holds his own. Steps up. He punched Negan in the face, and if that doesn't say something I don't know what does."

The long silent ride allowed Jesus to pick up on small details that he probably would have missed otherwise. Like the faint trace of a scar peeking from the top of his shirt- probably running the length of hid back. He could feel how tense the man was at his very delicate touch (he was trying to keep his hands to himself. Daryl seemed to him like the kind of guy who'd have beaten him up for being gay), and see the contortion of his face every time he shifted. He saw the small round scar on his hand, so clearly self inflicted. He saw three more of the same kind, and even more faint lines covering his toned arms. He noticed the scratch marks on his neck and face, beneath all the other bruising and grime. And he saw more than once a struggle to keep himself awake, a fight to keep his heavy eyelids open.

The ride was enough for Jesus to see a pain that made so much horrific sense. It was enough for him to understand the madness that could allow a man to be so brutal. It made him understand that the horror of seeing a young boy beaten to death was the least of the horrors of Negan.

By the time they reached the wall, it was dark. He could no longer examine the small details of the man before him. They all grew faded under the cover of dark. But when he got off the bike, turned the engine off; Jesus caught a glimpse of his horror stricken face. The gates were open. And Sasha was there, alongside Maggie.  
He watched as Daryl chewed his lip, and bowed his head. How he flinched as the tearful women hugged him, and then fussed over him. How he reluctantly followed them as they dragged him into the trailer, and shoved food at him. He saw the nausea on his face as he looked at the mouthwatering substance before him, the hunger. And he watched painfully as Daryl tore his eyes away from the food, and muttered something about a shower (which Sasha hastily led him too).

And when the bathroom door shut, and Sasha left to take her watch; he watched as Maggie sunk into a chair and started to cry.

"Did you see what they did to him?" She moaned, running a hand through her hair. "I've known him for years, and I've never seen him like that."  
"Hey," Jesus said, sitting next to her, taking her hand. "He's alive. That's what matters."  
Maggie shook her head, and wiped away her tears. "You see those burns on his arms? First one he made was when my sister died. He was as dead as I'd ever seen a living man. And now..." She hiccuped. "Now it's worse. Much..."

A crash sounded in the bathroom, startling Maggie to her feet.  
"Wait here." Jesus said, pulling her back into her seat. Slowly he stood up, and made his way over to the bathroom door.  
"Daryl?" He called, knocking slightly. The lack of response gave him pause for a moment. Just a moment. And then he opened the door, and closed it behind him.

Daryl was naked, curled up in a corner of the room. The water was spraying on him, but he didn't seem to notice it. His eyes were open, but vacant. He wasn't shivering, or gasping, or twitching. He was silent. Still.  
"Daryl?" Jesus attempted again. The dead blue eyes trailed his way, and he noticed the bloodied knuckles. And then he saw the broken mirror shard in his hand, pressed to his wrist, but not enough to draw blood. And the redness of Daryl's neck. He stepped forward, and took Daryl's bloody hand. He was met with resistance, but a feeble one. Jesus tried to ignore the stir in his chest at the sight of the naked man before him. As starved as he clearly was, Daryl's chest and arms were made of nothing but pure toned muscles. He didn't feel that way about him- but only a blind man wouldn't be stirred by the close proximity and nude state of the man before him. But the moment was flitting. As soon as the thought occurred, it vanished, and Jesus looked over the bloody hand. Mopping up the blood with the towel Sasha had neatly laid out for her friend, he was able to see the Daryl's knuckles were not very badly damaged. But he couldn't ignore the large chunk of glass in his hand.

Gentle but firm, Jesus extracted the self made weapon from Daryl's hand.  
"I'm sorry." He said, but whether or not Daryl heard him was impossible to know. "For what they did to you. No one deserves to go through something like this."  
He continued to silently clean Daryl's wounds, and the sudden response startled him.  
"Don' know shit." The naked man muttered hoarsely. It was hard to understand what he said.  
"You're right, I don't know what they did to you."  
"No." Daryl said, his pale eyes staring right at Jesus. "Ya don't know what I deserve."

Jesus had no chance to respond to the heartbreaking statement. A soft knock sounded on the door.  
"Daryl? Jesus?" Maggie called, her voice muffled by the door and the running water.  
Jesus looked from the door to Daryl, a question in his eyes, which was answered with a subtle, almost non existent shake of the head.  
Nodding slightly, Jesus picked up the glass shard, and took down the broken mirror, leaving the room just as silently as he'd entered.

"Is he alright?" Maggie asked. "I just need to know he's okay."  
With a sigh Jesus leaned the broken mirror against the wall, and looked at the pregnant widow in front of him.  
"He's alive. But you're right. It's not all that matters."

* * *

The next 2 days were uneventful.  
Sasha took watches. Enid hovered over Maggie, who in turn hovered over Daryl. Jesus helped where he could around the Hilltop. And Daryl had made himself at home on a bench right outside the trailer, where he sat all day and night; smoking and sharpening the knife Maggie gave him. He barely said a word, and refused to meet anyone's eyes. And when night came, and everyone went to sleep, Jesus heard him lay down, and he heard him whimpering, and getting up, and stepping outside. And he didn't come back. He just sat on his bench, and smoked, and sharpened his knife.

It was only 2 days- but he saw Daryl recover and deteriorate all at once.  
Sure, he was clean. Jesus had made an amazing effort to hide his blush when Daryl had emerged from the bathroom, wet, wearing a shirt which hung loosely off of Jesus' own frame- but hugged Daryl's snugly, the fabric stretched across his broad chest. His hair was far less greasy than it had been, and his bruises were healing up better than expected. But he wasn't eating. He clearly wasn't sleeping. And the longer Jesus watched Daryl sit on that bench, he hated Negan more.

So after 2 days, Jesus understood why Maggie was tired. She had halfheartedly declared that she was going to keep watch, and had not been seen all day. Jesus heard talk of her pushing Gregory around a bit, which had made him smile, but otherwise he heard nothing from her.

He just sat there, on the steps to the trailer, watching Daryl (under the pretense of reading a book) as he stared into space, like the days before. Every once in a while he'd run a hand through his hair, or shift sluggishly- but otherwise he remained completely still.  
And Jesus just watched.  
For hours he sat there, bored and worried out of his mind. He remembered Sasha calling Daryl's behavior "animal like", and Jesus couldn't help but wonder if this was something the Saviors had used against him. Treated him like one. An animal.  
He pondered the thought, a man held in a cage like a wild animal. Fed scraps. Beaten. Humiliated. He could have silently pondered the thought all day long had he not noticed Daryl shifting his gaze to the scar on him hand, tracing it slowly. He remembered what Maggie had said, about her sister. He couldn't help but wonder what she had been to the broken man before him.

"What was her name?" He asked. Daryl did not look at him. He showed no sign of hearing him speak at all. He slowly shifted his hand, so that he was staring at his bare forearm, tracing a line across the veins of his left wrist with his finger. Jesus felt his breath hitch in his throat. He considered getting Maggie, or Sasha. He thought of wrapping Daryl in a hug and begging him to expel the thoughts from his mind.  
But he didn't. He just sat there and watched as Daryl ran his fingers across his wrist over and over again.

"Beth."

The grunting response was so soft Jesus barely caught it as the name slipped from Daryl's lips, seemingly against his will. The pain in his voice almost made Jesus wince. Whatever Beth had been to Daryl- he had loved her, and lost her. Loved her enough to open himself- and feel her loss so deeply that he inflicted physical pain upon himself.  
It was a daring move, and had he thought about it Jesus would have reconsidered- but slowly he rose to his feet, and sat by Daryl's side.  
Blue eyes met broken blue eyes for the first time in 2 days. It held for a short moment before Daryl's gaze was averted.  
"You loved her." Jesus said, and Daryl winced sharply. "I'm sorry you lost her."  
Daryl shrugged, and stood up.  
"People die." He said simply, biting his thumb. It was another habit he had that Jesus had noticed while he watched him.  
"You're allowed to feel. You deserve..."

"Ya don't know shit." Daryl snarled at him. "'bout me. 'bout Beth... Glenn..."

There was no better explanation than that, Jesus thought as he followed Daryl (who was striding away from the bench for the first time all day). He blamed himself for Maggie's husband. He probably blamed himself for her sister too. Daryl thought he was the cause of their misery, and Negan had no doubt nurtured and encouraged the growth of that thought.  
Jesus almost crashed into Daryl, who came to a sudden halt. It took only a second for him to understand why.

"You told us to get ready to fight. I didn't listen, I couldn't." Rick's voice was so familiar to Jesus by this point, he had no doubt Daryl would recognize it anywhere. "But I can now."

The two men emerged from behind the building, and Daryl stared at Rick who had been embracing Maggie.  
The look in his eyes when he saw Daryl was almost tearful. His arms fell to his sides and he took long strides to where Daryl stood. Jesus crossed his arms and watched them, standing before each other. Daryl gave a nod to Rick, as a clear attempt to contain his feelings, but then bowed his head and accepted the embrace Rick pulled him into.  
Jesus watched Daryl cry into Rick's shoulder. Watched as Rick held him tightly, muttering something into his ear. As Daryl nodded, and shook his hair out of his face, and accepted short embraces from Tara and Michonne. He had been relaxed as Jesus had ever seen him in Rick's embrace, but as the two women hugged him he saw the tension return to his shoulders.

A pang of jealousy flooded through Jesus. He ached to touch Daryl like Rick was allowed too. He wanted to be the one to relieve his tension.  
But Rick and Daryl were brothers.  
Even a blind man could tell there were no romantic feelings between the two men. The two straight men, he reminded himself.

Jesus watched as Daryl pulled the gun he'd taken from the Sanctuary, and handed it to a stunned Rick. It had been Rick's weapon, that much was clear. The two men exchanged a small nod, and Rick proceeded to look around at his people.  
Turning around, Rick holstered the gun, and started walking up the hill, towards Gregory.

* * *

The ride to the kingdom was nothing like the ride to the Hilltop had been.  
Rick had asked question after question, only resting to hear the answers he was given. His eyes were on the road, but Jesus saw him stealing glances at Daryl every once in a while.  
Rick's presence had awakened Daryl, who had talked more in that day than he had over the last 2 days. He walked with purpose. Hid his feelings. Treated Jesus like he usually did. It seemed to Jesus as though Daryl was trying to pretend that nothing had happened while he'd been held hostage. That nothing had happened over the last couple of days. That he was fine.

But it didn't fool him, and it certainly didn't fool Rick.

As the day progressed, through meeting with Ezikiel, and settling for the night at the Kingdom, it became startlingly clear how not fine Daryl was. He'd shamefully bow his head every time his name was mentioned, he was as tense as Jesus had ever seen him, and whenever someone dared ask him if he was alright he'd merely growl in response.  
The group settled in one room, as Jesus understood was a normal thing with them- when offered separation. Smart, he thought. But paranoid.

Night fell, and Daryl was outside, on a bench. Typical, Jesus thought as he watched him through the window. Once everyone else had fallen asleep, Jesus found himself joined by Rick.  
"Maggie told me you got him out." The leader of Alexandria said.  
"He was already on the loose when I got to him. Killed one of Negan's men."  
Rick looked at him seriously. "Thank you anyway."

"He broke a mirror, you know." Jesus said, looking for Rick's reaction. "First night at the Hilltop. I found him in the shower with a piece of glass pressed to his wrist. Has he ever..."  
"Been suicidal?" Rick asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Not since I've known him. Never given a crap about himself, that's for sure."  
"He hurts himself."  
"I know, damn it." Rick snapped. "Don't you think I know that? I've seen the scars. I've woken him up when he's hurt himself in his sleep for God's sake. I've heard drunk confessions, and held him through the rough nights. I know things you have no business knowing."

Jesus felt himself shrink a little. "Sorry." He muttered.  
"Don't be. It's just..." A sigh escaped Rick's lips as he ran a hand through his hair. "He's my brother. And he's always hurting, and I... I just don't know what to do. I can take on the dead, and face up to Negan, but I can't help my brother. He's too used to being alone."

Jesus stared silently at Rick, who watched Daryl. Last he'd checked Daryl had been smoking, and if Rick's flinch was anything to go by- Daryl had just pressed the burning stick to his skin.

"Have you talked to him?" Jesus asked.  
"What?"  
"Have you told all this crap to Daryl? Cause I'm fine knowing that you know. And I know that he means something to you. But Daryl? I talked to him.. About Negan. Told him he didn't deserve what happened to him." A small glance at the blue eyes before him, and Jesus knew that Rick knew. "He told me I didn't know what he deserved. His words. Not mine. Whatever Negan did to him... Talk to him, Rick. That's what I'm saying here."

* * *

Rick had hated Negan with a passion far before anything. Before the lineup.  
When he heard what he did to the boy at the Hilltop- he knew he had to kill the man.  
So when Daryl had showed up at their house, emotional, telling them that Denise was dead- Rick hated the man more. When he blocked the roads. When they'd finally met face to face.  
When Negan threatened his son.  
When he'd played a game, and joked about their lives.  
When he'd killed Abraham.  
Glenn.

He'd hated him in all those moments. All the moments that led up to the demand that he sever Carl's arm.  
Rick loathed Negan.  
But that was the moment in which he learned to fear him.

And once he feared him- the bastard took his brother. His brother, who was bleeding all night long. Who was handled like a beast as Dwight threw him into the truck.  
Once Rick was Negan's- he claimed Daryl.  
Because Daryl was Rick's right hand. His person. His brother. His.  
And when Rick belonged to Negan- so did Daryl.

After that night, Rick hated Negan again, beyond fear, when he saw his brother. Skinny. Battered. Bruised. Dressed in filthy rags. His head bowed. Was it shameful or submissive or both, he didn't know. But Rick knew Daryl, and that was not a gesture that was ever to be associated with his brother. Never.  
And then when Negan had held a gun to his head, Rick felt the fear again. But he watched in horror as Daryl ignored the gun. Like he was used to it. Or worse- as if he didn't care.

After the lineup, Rick had given up. They were Negan's property. They answered to Negan. Provided for Negan. Belonged to Negan. The words had been dancing round his brain for weeks. He dared. He asked for Daryl, after the first offering. He pleaded to get his brother back.  
And Daryl had said nothing. When Negan turned to him, he bowed his head lower than before. He looked ashamed. So ashamed that Rick felt an ache in his chest. So ashamed that he swore to end Negan. Even if he had no idea what to do. Even if he died trying.

He had wanted to rescue Daryl. From the moment he was loaded onto Negan's truck, Rick wanted to go after him. But he couldn't. When he'd made his way to the Hilltop to find Maggie, his full intention had been to ask Jesus about the Saviors. Anything he knew that could help. He had not expected to find his brother, Jesus trailing behind him.  
Thinner than he used to be. The bags under his eyes more prominent than ever.  
And Rick couldn't miss the scratch marks all over his neck and face. More injuries that Rick had no doubt were caused by Daryl himself.

He'd known about the self injury since Daryl started with it. On the road, after Beth, when Daryl had showed up with a burn on his hand- Rick had wanted to confront him, but he couldn't. He didn't know how.  
That same night at the barn, when they'd been fighting the walkers in the storm Daryl's arm had been hurt against the barn. But when the morning came Rick saw that the cut on his arm was longer than it had been the night before. More precise.  
As the time had passed in Alexandria Rick watched in agony as every few days another mark would appear on his brother's flesh. Cuts. Burns. Scratches. Some days Daryl would emerge from his room with knuckles so bruised it made his entire hand seem purple. On the more peaceful days he'd be drinking. He was often found tearing his hair out, and Rick had seen him punching himself once.

Every time he saw Daryl he wanted to say something. Anything. But he couldn't.

"Talk to him, Rick. That's what I'm saying here."

Jesus had sat beside him. Silently. Watching Rick while Rick watched Daryl burn yet another undamaged piece of himself. His words were effective. Scary. Of all the things Rick had watched Daryl do, to hear that suicide had become part of his brother's agenda was like a stab in the gut. Rick had remained silent too long. Far too long. Things had gotten out of hand.

 _Daryl wanted to kill himself_.

He gave Jesus a nod. Stepped over his sleeping son. Walked to the door. Silently. Trying to form words.

 _Jesus told me you want to commit suicide, Daryl. Is that true?_

 _Not cool man._

 _You can't do this brother._

 _Talk to me Daryl._

His mind was a mess. A jumble of thoughts. He thought back to Andrea. Jaqui. _Beth_.  
And suddenly a picture formed in his mind, just as he approached Daryl's hunched form.

The younger man looked up at the sound of footsteps, frightened from what Rick could tell. Daryl had always been twitchy, but never frightened. Hatred towards Negan coursed through him once more. Daryl gave him a nod, to which Rick jerked his head. He'd missed silently communicating with someone who understood him as well as Daryl. Their eyes always spoke words that could not be uttered, which offered Rick comfort more than he cared to admit. Even before the worlds end he had not been good with words.  
They walked together, away from the buildings, away from the gate. They walked until they found a spot hidden by trees, but still within the walls. When Rick came to a stop, Daryl followed in suit.

"You burned yourself." Rick said, not knowing what else to say. To his horror Daryl did nothing to deny it. He didn't explain himself, or make an excuse. He simply shrugged his shoulders.  
"So?" He grunted.  
"I know this isn't the first time..." The ex-sheriff said, hesitating a little. "Since... Since Beth died..."  
"Don't." Daryl snapped, meeting Rick's eyes for the first time all day. The hostility startled Rick. It was something he hadn't seen directed at him in years. Not from Daryl.

"Daryl, I'm worried about you."  
"Yeah? Well don't be." The younger of the two brothers spat, pacing slightly, just like he always did when he was antsy. "Ain't worth your time. Ain't none of your business, so why dontcha back the fuck off?"  
"This isn't like you. Negan..."  
"Don't talk 'bout him like you get it." Rick searched Daryl's face for something other than rage and pain. "Ya dunno shit."  
"Jesus found you with a hunk o'glass against your wrist. Your neck is all messed up and it sure doesn't look like someone else did it. You're my brother Daryl, so I ain't just gonna back off. I don't know shit? Fine. Tell me. Tell me every last bit. What he did, what he said. Make me know shit."

His pacing didn't stop, and Rick didn't expect it too. He was expecting a fuse to blow. For Daryl to yell at him, snap, and growl, and call him names. What he didn't expect was for Daryl to lean his forehead against a tree, and sigh deeply.  
"Wanna know shit?" He said softly, his voice cracking.  
"You're not alone anymore, Daryl." Rick said, aching to soothe his brother somehow. Daryl didn't look up.

"Was in a cell." He mumbled, and Rick had to strain his ears to hear everything. "Took my clothes. Beat me up. He... used a belt, 'fter... saw my back... said shit. Said you'd all left me... di'n't want me after what I did... said shit 'bout my old man." In all the years they'd known each other, Rick had only heard about Daryl's father once- when he'd been drunk. The subject was a touchy one, and to hears that the bastards had rubbed Daryl's tragic childhood in his face infuriated Rick immensely. "Di'n't get much water... nothin' clean... gave me... fed... some kinda crap ass meat 'n' moldy bread... think 't'was dog food... had... He made me eat it." Rick felt his hatred grow. Dog food. Fucking dog food. "Couldn't sleep, di'n't let me... Saw my... _my_ scars... gave me a knife and told me to cut . Wouldn't leave 'till I did..."  
Daryl looked up, his eyes watering, lips quavering. "Di'n't want to. I di'n't. Ya gotta believe me, I..."  
Rick couldn't take it. He stretched out his arms and wrapped Daryl in a tight embrace.  
"It's alright." Rick whispered in his ear, one hand supporting the back of Daryl's head, the other rubbing his back soothingly. "S'okay, brother. I believe you. You're okay. We'll get them for this, whatever it takes. I promise you. You're okay. It'll be okay."

He knew it. It had to be.  
Rick had to be the one to kill Negan.

* * *

Rick was pissed. Ezikiel said no. After everything.  
But he was thankful. The bastard was offering to hide Daryl. Keep him safe from Negan. From his people.  
After the conversation they'd had, Rick was completely on board with that.

But it came at a price, this solution. Abandoning Daryl. Leaving his brother behind.  
 _Said you'd all left me... didn't want me.  
_ Rick knew Daryl had always thought himself worthless. Back when Merle had been around Daryl always put Merle first. When Rick lost Lori he'd put the group first- Judith above them all. No matter what Daryl always seemed to find a way to make himself the least important person in the room.  
Negan had used that. Fed his fears. Let them flourish, and take over Daryl's mind.  
He blamed himself for Glenn. Thought they hated him for it. And if Rick left, he worried that he too would be confirming Daryl's darkest thoughts.

"Every day we just make them grow stronger." Richard had been talking, but Rick barely heard him. He was just saying out loud what they all already knew. His eyes trained towards his brother.

"Hey open it up! We're goin'."  
 _Was in a cell. Took my clothes. Beat me up.  
_ _Think t'was dog food.  
Gave me a knife and told me to cut.  
_Rick looked at him, at the man he'd once hated. At his brother who was as dear to him as his son was. He'd do anything for Daryl. To keep him from harms way.

"You're not." Rick managed out, turning to look into those familiar blue eyes. The familiar blue eyes that were filling with anger. With betrayal.  
"I'm not stayin' here." Daryl snapped angrily.  
"You have too." Rick said, slowly edging between Daryl and the open gate. "It's the smartest play, you know it is."  
Daryl averted his gaze, shook his head.  
"Try to talk to Ezikiel." Daryl glared at him. "Or stare him into submission, whatever it takes."

 _We'll get them for this, whatever it takes._

The brothers looked each other in the eyes.  
Blue against blue.  
"We'll be back soon." Rick said, putting a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder.

Rick walked through the open gate, with a heavy heart.  
 _It's the smartest play, you know it is._  
He turned around for a moment, and watched the gates close in front of his brother's hurt expression. He looked so alone. So trapped.

 _I'm sorry brother. Forgive me._

* * *

 **So this is me coping with the lack of Daryl/Rick bromance this season, and the whole season finale.**

 **I just want to address Daryl's self injury- from my personal experience with self harm.  
I have this friend, who self harms. She cuts, mostly. She doesn't do it often, just in very rare moments when she loses control. She likes being in control. Her self harming comes in these little explosions every once in a million.  
That's one kind. The kind of self harm we saw after Beth died, when Daryl burned himself.  
Then there's me.  
I cut. And I burn. And I punch walls, and myself. I rip out my hair in chunks. I do this crap all the time, because I feel like crap. I'm not mentioning this for help, or support, or attention. I'm saying this to explain my version of Daryl's self harm.  
In this story, yeah, he started out with the one time. Beth meant a lot to him (doesn't matter if you ship them or not). He loved her, in whatever way. So he burned himself, to cope with the one shitty moment. And on the show, we never hear anything about it ever again (to my major annoyance). But here it's different. Daryl burned himself. And he cried. So from there on his self mutilation was associated with relief. And a guy like Daryl needs a major chill pill every twenty minutes. So this is his chill pill.**

 **I also elaborated a bit on Negan/Dwight torturing Daryl, because frankly I thought it was a bit of a let down. The affect it had on him was awesome, and I'm not saying they're crappy at torture. I was just expecting a little bit more than "Easy Street" from a guy who melts peoples faces off.**

 **And as to Daryl/Jesus, I personally ship it. I think it'd be great, seeing as Daryl and Rick are never going to happen. But this was just a little bit of one sided thoughts from Jesus. On the same subject, I'd like to mention what Jesus was thinking- about the possibility of Daryl being homophobic. I don't think there's much to say, the possibility is a likely one. With a brother like Merle, homophobia is expected. Clearly he's not- because he has little dinner parties with Aaron and Eric, but just thought it was worth a mention.**

 **Feel free to rant, and if you wanna talk about season 7, hmu.**

 **(Also, how funny was Jadis hitting on Rick?! I laughed out loud when he was all like "um I should go").**


End file.
